


Desperate times, painful measures.

by Planar_Snap



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-01-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:28:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22285594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Planar_Snap/pseuds/Planar_Snap
Summary: Georgia gets pushed to the brink, and opens herself up to a probable mistake.





	Desperate times, painful measures.

Spatterings of beginning rain drizzled onto her as she slams the manor door hard. Whirling she brings her boot to kick it with full flailing force as well. The impact rolls out like a thundercrack, it hurts, she doesn’t care.

She could be ran through with white hot burning metal right now, it wouldn’t match the pain inside her. She screams in rage, an incoherent mix of common and elivish and storms down the path towards the town. Rage boils in her as she converts the pain, betrayal,hurt and self loathing into something she can use to fuel herself. Burn through her veins and system until it either leaves on consumes her. 

The faces she travels past in town are pleased and seem to smile at first when she passes till they meet her eyes and the sharp snarl at her lips. She almost feels like her teeth have filed to points as she trudges through the main and backstreets. Under her breath uttering one sided arguments between herself and Krog, Viridian, Astran and the rest of the ladder. 

In her minds eye she’s screaming vile rage and anger at Viridian, Toll pressed against the dukes throat, the dull olive green and brown glow to it indicating its poison has been loosed, blood welling at its edge as she pushes enough to hurt, the blood trickles onto her shirt staining the green almost black with her blood. The words “traitor!” “Monster!” “Murderer!” “Hypocrite!” “Fool!” Rip from her throat, spittle coating the duke’s face. 

The dragon in human starts to smile, just a creeping edge before the dagger slits her throat. Blood sprays into the air and Georgia H’lvas stands panting looking down at a the collapsed choking body in its last throes of life, a smile on her face that’s withdrawn and sunken, eyes dark and....glowing...a dull icy blue, cold, full, sated as she spreads her arms wide and bathed in pulsing arterial spray. She turns to the cowering thing that was once a man, now just a corpse given life behind her and in one swift motion let’s fly from her raised palm two sickly blue bolts of energy, one piercing each of Astran’s eyes detonating his head in pop that brings her glee. 

She smiles again this time wide, pure white breaks the image of a blood soaked face, as she exposes them, two sharp rows of pointed teeth. 

Georgia finds herself in the stable eventually. She doesn’t know how long has passed or where has been. She’s sitting back against a wall in a stall eyes wet and weeping, hands balled so hard they hurt, her knuckles so white they look as though they might rip through the skin. Her nose is bloody and she can feel a cut on her forehead seeping blood as she leans back and sighs. The cold of the night seeps into her body. But she only just feels it as the hot burning blood pluses through her like lightning. Her boots are coated in mud and outside the wind is howling, whipping at the wooden structure. 

There’s a part of her gut that tells her, calls out from her place of loathing “they should have left you in that pit! Left you stuck in that annex to the matron of Ravens. Left your worthless body dead.”

The anger, the pain the hurt and trauma boil and rise, crest like waves as she closes her eyes and looks to the roof as if seeing through to the sky. 

“I don’t care what you are....if it’s the matron of Raven’s or He who knocks or something else, I don’t care who is listening......dark or light....good or Ill. I beseech something. Someone....give me the means to slay that green bitch and I’ll give you whatever you want. So swears Georgia Lucinda H’lvas first of her name, bard of the land, apprentice of the pale duke.” She takes her blade and reaches down slicing at her palm before letting it drip to the floor. “I swear with my life, my blood, my word and my soul, let me see her dead by my hand and I am yours.”


End file.
